


"Rain"

by Valeria2067



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What to do on a rainy day in Baker Street? The shadows of raindrops on Sherlock's skin give John an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Rain"

One of the things John had missed most in Afghanistan was rain.

Any kind of rain. Storms, drizzles, torrents of water sloshing down off of rooftops, or the kind he was hearing now: steady, strong drops pattering against the roof and windows. He could listen to it for hours, if it lasted.

He leaned back in the wooden chair and pushed himself a little farther from the table where he’d been working on the laptop. He folded his arms and listened, eyes closed.

When he opened his eyes again, a tall figure was standing near him, facing away toward the window. Like John, the man was still in his pyjamas, or in this case pyjamas and a blue silk robe.  
“Think it’ll rain today, Sherlock?” John asked in his best mock-serious tone.

“All indications would suggest it,” Sherlock replied. He looked back over his shoulder and gave a faint smile.

John breathed out a laugh. “Guess this means your date with Lestrade is off, then?”

“Yes..” Sherlock stepped closer to the window and traced the pattern of a falling droplet, trying to anticipate where it would join with the others and where it would continue down the pane on its own track. “There’s no point taking soil samples when the soil is under a few inches of runoff. We’ll have to wait for it to dry, assuming there’s anything left after this.” 

“Right. Well, I’m sorry about that.”

Sherlock sighed. “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t intend to cause the downpour, John. You just weren’t thinking carefully when you let it happen.” Sherlock leaned his forehead against the glass.

“Yeah, I can’t actually affect the weather patterns, thanks. You must be thinking of Mycroft.”

“God…” Sherlock sighed.

“Same difference,” replied John.

Sherlock rolled his body so that his back, rather than his forehead, was leaning against the window. He put the heels of his hands up to his eyes and let out another sigh.

That’s when John noticed that Sherlock wasn’t, strictly speaking, wearing pyjamas. He was wearing pyjama bottoms, but underneath the silk robe his torso was bare.

That’s also when John noticed that Sherlock was sporting a rather impressive erection.

John licked his lips involuntarily.

Outside, the rain picked up a bit. The tiny rivulets running down the window were casting intricate shadows on Sherlock’s pale cheek and neck. John stood up and walked over to Sherlock. The taller man barely threw a sideways glance at him. Instead he leaned even more against the window and closed his eyes again.

John watched the shadow of a droplet move down Sherlock’s cheek and onto his jaw. He reached out and began to trace it with his finger. Sherlock didn’t open his eyes.

As the shadow continued on its journey, John’s finger followed it: over the jawline and down onto the lovely neck, sideways a bit as it joined another drop and moved over and across the hollow at the base of Sherlock’s throat. John watched the pale skin move as Sherlock swallowed hard. 

The shadow had moved on, but John let his hand linger at that gorgeous throat. He moved in and kissed it gently. He felt a puff of breath stir his sandy hair as Sherlock exhaled raggedly.

He looked up and saw Sherlock staring back at him with heavy-lidded eyes. John pushed the blue silk robe off of Sherlock’s shoulders and kissed each pale, defined collarbone. Nearly all of Sherlock’s gorgeously-exposed torso was dappled with the pattern of raindrops from the window. John only wished the shadows were actual raindrops; he would love to catch each one in his mouth. 

So he pretended to do exactly that. He kissed the spot where a phantom droplet was coursing down Sherlock’s ribcage. The sensation made Sherlock jump. John continued kissing, letting his tongue follow the imaginary route down over the flat stomach, the taut abdomen. He heard Sherlock’s sharp intake of breath. 

Within seconds John had Sherlock completely nude, writhing against the window pane and John’s expert tongue sent wave after wave of pleasure coursing through the naked, slender frame.

“Ungh! John! … John, you’re going to … Nnnnff!” Sherlock bit down on his lower lip to stifle cry as John worked one moistened finger inside him. John moved the kisses back up to Sherlock’s stomach and chest. 

He took one of Sherlock’s hands and placed it on top of the erection that was straining inside his pyjama bottoms. Sherlock immediately grasped it and began to stroke, pull and caress even as John’s fingers drove him blind with pleasure.

“Put your arms around my neck. Now.” John commanded. Sherlock complied, and John inched him forward a bit. The fingers that had been the cause of such sweet torment left Sherlock as John used both hands to raise the window sash.

Warm rain splattered in across Sherlock’s waist, back, and buttocks. 

“Let go now, and hold on to the wall on each side. And don’t squirm; you’ll slip and let that gorgeous arse crash down onto the pavement. Understood?”

Sherlock nodded. John Watson remained the only man – the only person – who could render the formidable Sherlock Holmes speechless.

John quickly stripped off his grey t-shirt and dark blue pyjama bottoms. He then positioned himself between Sherlock’s thighs. Sherlock gasped as John’s naked erection brushed against his own.

Rain was already gathering in puddles on the windowsill; John reached a cupped hand out into the rain, pulled it back inside, and then moved his moistened hand over his erection to wet it.

“Arms around me again, right now. And hold on for dear life….. That’s not really as much of an exaggeration as it sounds, either,” John added with a wicked smile.

In one powerful thrust he buried himself inside Sherlock. The force drew a growling cry from deep in Sherlock’s throat. He squeezed his arms tighter around John as the thrusts continued and increased their pace. 

John felt himself getting closer to the edge. He slipped one hand between their bodies and grasped Sherlock tightly. 

“Fuck…Sherlock,” he panted, “Fuck you feel brilliant. I want to hear you… I want to hear it when you…”

That was all it took to send Sherlock over the brink. He came with a strangled cry of “John!” that shook both their bodies.

John followed almost immediately, and both men slumped against each other, desperate for breath. Sherlock buried his hands in John’s short hair and kissed his forehead, ears, and temple.

John started to laugh quietly.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked?

“Oh, it’s just… I love being back in London,” John breathed. “It rains here almost every fucking day.”


End file.
